


The One Where A Mailbox Gets The Most Action

by werewolvesandarrows (nerdy_farm_girl)



Series: Birthday Fics [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Dare, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, mentioned Scott/Kira, scott and derek are neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/pseuds/werewolvesandarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dude, he tried to ask you what our English homework was and you squeaked and ran off before he even could get the words out.” Without even looking at him Stiles can tell that Scott is way too amused about this. “He had to ask me, and he totally already had the assignment written down in his agenda.”<br/>“Have you seen his eyebrows man?” Stiles whispers, whipping around to find himself face to face with Scott. “Those are murder brows! I think he wants to kill me!” Scott raises his own completely unimpressed eyebrows and blows a bubble of what smells like spearmint gum right in his face (Stiles would know, he’s pretty sure Scott stole it out of his backpack).<br/>“So you’re out here spying on him because…?” Scott’s doing that thing with his teeth and his bottom lip that can only mean horrible, no good things for Stiles. “I dare you to lick his mailbox.”<br/>It’s Stiles turn to look unimpressed, and he hopes that his expression clearly communicates how horrible he thinks Scott is right now.<br/>“What is the matter with you? No way.” He crosses his arms and shakes his head. “That would be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Or: Stiles licks Derek's mailbox. That's it. That's the story. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where A Mailbox Gets The Most Action

**Author's Note:**

> For [Mary](http://maryqueenofsnark.tumblr.com/), Happy (Early) Birthday!
> 
> Inspired by this Tumblr Prompt: “my friend told me lick your mailbox on a dare and when i went to do the dare you were leaving the house to get your mail but i didn’t notice so now you’re staring at me as i lick your mailbox” ([x](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com/post/126602509447/caprxgers-some-oddly-specific-aus-that-no-one).  
> Also posted on my [tumblr](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com).

“This might actually be the stupidest thing we’ve ever done.”

Stiles glares at Scott over his shoulder, hoping his expression conveys exactly how unimpressed he is with his best friend’s unwillingness to cooperate.

“It’s going to be even more _stupid_ if you continue to stand out there in plain sight!” He hisses, throwing a handful of grass in Scott’s direction when he continues to _not move_.

“Oh, because standing in my own front yard is so much more suspicious than hiding behind a bush and spying on my neighbor.” Scott says the last part in a whisper as he finally crouches down beside Stiles. He doesn’t dare look at Scott, knows damn well that the smug grin on his face will only push Scott to extremes. Like that time he repeated everything Stiles said back to him for three hours. Stiles had never realized how annoying his own words were until he had to hear them in Scott’s nasally impression of his voice. It was awful. “Wipe that look off your face.” Scott whispers in his ear.

“You can’t even see my face dude,” Stiles can hear the grin in his own words, and he’s pretty sure that if death glares actually lived up to their name, he'd be a pile of ash on the ground right now. “And anyways, you _know_ how important this is to me! It’s like my… life’s work or something! I _need_ this.”

“Waiting for Derek Hale to come out of his house so you can ogle his ass is not something you _need_. It’s a _want_ ,” Scott huffs and plops down onto his ass. “And it’s embarrassing. The fact that you even know that he gets the mail for his mom every afternoon is just like…”

“Don’t say it.”

“I just don’t think someone like say, _your dad_ , would have anything good to say about what’s going on.” Scott sounds so smug, and Stiles _hates_ it, even though he knows he’s right. This whole thing is pretty sketchy. But it’s not his fault that Derek Hale got supernaturally hot over the summer between junior and senior year. He went from being fairly normal looking with his too big ears and cute bunny teeth and very aggressive eyebrows, and then all of a sudden he like shot up a foot and magicked up some muscles and underneath those (still murderous tbh) eyebrows he’s got the prettiest green eyes that Stiles has ever seen. And that includes Lydia Martin’s. And Scott’s. Even though Scott’s are brown but they’re really dark and warm and one time they spent a whole afternoon staring at each other's eyes until it got to that point where eyes and their liquid-y colorful weirdness started to gross them out. “The most embarrassing thing though, is that you’re too much of a chicken shit to even make eye contact with him.”

“That’s not true,” Stiles murmurs as he peers through the branches of The Bush (it gets capitalized because it is an important part of his plan. His mental plan. And his written one too but that’s not important). It’s a little difficult to see, since all the leaves are still on and the angle isn’t quite right, but he can just make out the Hale’s mailbox across the street.

“Dude, he tried to ask you what our English homework was and you squeaked and ran off before he even could get the words out.” Without even looking at him Stiles can tell that Scott is _way_ too amused about this. “He had to ask _me_ , and he totally already had the assignment written down in his agenda.”

“Have you seen his eyebrows man?” Stiles whispers, whipping around to find himself face to face with Scott. “Those are murder brows! I think he wants to kill me!” Scott raises his own completely unimpressed eyebrows and blows a bubble of what smells like spearmint gum right in his face (Stiles would know, he’s pretty sure Scott stole it out of his backpack).

“So you’re out here spying on him because…?” Scott’s doing that thing with his teeth and his bottom lip that can only mean horrible, no good things for Stiles. “I dare you to lick his mailbox.”

It’s Stiles turn to look unimpressed, and he hopes that his expression clearly communicates how horrible he thinks Scott is right now.

“What is the matter with you? No way.” He crosses his arms and shakes his head. “ _That_ would be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Scott huffs out a laugh and leans back on his hands, clearly done even pretending like he’s hiding behind The Bush. “Look man, you dared me to leave love notes for Kira using post-its stuck to her locker, and her _dad_ caught me. And look at us now! Happily dating for three months.”

“I don’t want to hear about your perfect little relationship,” Stiles growls, turning around to peer through the branches again. Derek should be returning from his afternoon run in approximately five minutes (who even runs for _fun_ anyways? Running is torture). He’ll stop at the mailbox and use the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow, and it will be the most glorious fifteen seconds of Stiles’ life.

“You know what happens when you don’t complete a dare…” Stiles can’t help the full body shudder that passes through him. Oh boy does he _know_ what happens when he doesn’t complete a dare. When Scott and Stiles were eight, they drafted the first iteration of The Bro Code. There have been numerous versions and extensions and amendments, but one of the few sections that has remained the same is the one detailing procedure around dares. Basically, if one of them doesn’t complete a dare, the other gets to request three “wishes” that _must_ be executed. One time, Stiles had to do all of Scott’s chores for a week. Of course, that was after he made Scott clean his room (for the first time in five years mind you), so it was probably warranted. _Anyways_ , he never ever wants there to be a reason for Bro Code Section 2.8.1 to be enacted.

“I hate you.” He mumbles, pushing himself up into a crouching position. Who even comes up with something like licking a mailbox? Why is that even a thing that exists in Scott’s brain? Has anyone ever licked one before? He thinks not, unless some mailman was feeling a little frisky or something.

“You love me,” Scott grins up at him, stupid sunshiny smile and crooked jaw masking the asshole mastermind underneath. Stiles just bares his teeth and attempts to growl because yes, he does love Scott, but goddammit he’s not going to admit it right now.

Instead, he shuffles around The Bush, checking to make sure Scott’s street is still blessedly empty. According to his quick calculations, if he runs across the road, licks the mailbox and runs back in under one minute and thirty seconds, there is no way that Derek will see him performing this rather strange act.

“You better be paying attention,” he hisses as he stands up and shakes the kinks out of his knees. “I’m not doing it again.” He doesn’t wait for Scott’s response, just looks both ways one last time (his dad is a cop okay, he’s had the look both ways thing drilled into his head since before he could even lift his head up in order to do any actual looking) and sprints across the street.

His heart is hammering in his chest and his palms are sweating, and times seems to be moving molasses slow and NASCAR fast simultaneously. It’s almost like he floats across the street but then comes crashing back to the ground when confronted with the mailbox. Licking metal isn’t really something he ever wants to do, and the fact that the Hale’s box is painted with some kind of wolf mural only makes it worse. Is there like an etiquette for licking mailboxes? Where is he even supposed to do this? Scott really should be more specific in his dares.

“Sorry mister mailbox,” he whispers, patting it gently. “Or miss mailbox, or just mailbox, whichever you prefer.”

“That’s it Stiles!” Scott yells from the end of his driveway, where he has apparently decided to drag his lazy ass off the ground and spectate. “You can never have enough foreplay!”

Stiles flips him off and cuts his hand across his throat. He’s on borrowed time here and he’s losing track of it. He probably only has like forty five seconds before Derek rounds the corner up the road and will be able to see him doing… this. Turning his full attention back to the mailbox, he shifts so that Scott should be able to very clearly see his tongue making contact. There’s been way too many questioned dare executions for him to let it happen this time. This is a once in a lifetime thing that is _never_ going to be repeated. Ever.

“Stiles!” Scott is yelling at him but he ignores it, bending slowly towards the box. Each heart beat seems to pound in his ears, almost like sneakers slapping against pavement. “Stiles!” He charges on, sticking out his tongue and dragging it up across warm metal, the metallic taste of iron and paint sticking to his tongue. “Stiles!”

“Whaa?” He yells back as best he could, turning towards Scott with his tongue still sticking out (he needs to like spray it off before it returns to his mouth okay). Except that’s definitely _not_ Scott’s chest that he just whacked with his hand. 

“You’re licking my mailbox.” Yup. It’s most certainly Derek Hale, lack of enunciation and all.

“You’ve improved your time.” Stiles says, because he’s an idiot and can’t keep his slightly stalkery ways under wraps. Not to mention that he just brought his tongue back into his mouth and now all he can taste is mailbox. 10/10 would NOT recommend.

“I sped up when I saw someone lurking around my mom’s mailbox.” Derek says, his voice gruff even though Stiles swears his lips twitch in one corner. Because he’s never been one to heed any self-preservation instincts, he grabs the water bottle Derek has clasped in one hand and takes a chug (back wash be damned) and swishes it, spitting it rather heroically onto the pavement. It takes some of the gross taste away, but Derek doesn’t seem like he’s impressed. Across the street, Scott has returned to hiding behind The Bush. He sticks his hand through the branches and gives Stiles the most annoying thumbs up he’s ever been on the receiving end of in his life. “I’ll take my water back now thanks.”

Stiles grins and hands it back, absolutely not staring when Derek tips his head back and drains it. (Okay so he might have stared a little. Or a lot. It’s not his fault that he has this _thing_ where he wants to bite Derek. Not like, werewolf bite but like sexy bite. And like, be sexily bitten. By Derek. Just saying). In an attempt to save this disaster, he leans one elbow on the mailbox and bats his eyelashes up in Derek’s direction.

“So, you come here often?”

Derek rolls his eyes and huffs loudly, but he’s totally fighting back a smile. Stiles is sure of it.

“What? My mailbox? No, never been here before.”

“Ooooh, the Jock’s got jokes, eh?”

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, and oh, there he goes, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt again. Stiles might actually die from being in such close proximity. He can _smell_ Derek’s sweat and _see_ it glistening on his abs. Which on second thought is kind of gross, but well, beggars can’t be choosers, or whatever. “We play on the same team.”

“Pffft,” Stiles waves him off. “Yeah but you play football in the fall _and_ lacrosse in the spring. Two sports equals jock status.”

“What does me plus you plus ice cream equal?”

“What does me plus you plus…” Stiles trails off, squinting at Derek as it slowly sinks in. Slowly. Very slowly. “Are you…” He tilts his head, taking in the way the flush on Derek’s cheeks from running darkens. “Did you just ask me on a date? In the form of an aggressive word problem?”

“How was that aggressive,” Derek mumbles, eyes trained on his sneaker as he scuffs the toe across the pavement.

“Oh my god,” Stiles murmurs, looking over Derek’s shoulder towards The Bush and giving Scott an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Yes, yes, totally yes! Can we go now? Let’s go now. I don’t want to give you a chance to change your mind. Do you want me to drive or are you going to drive? Wait you should drive you have that sexy car. Although the Jeep is totally rad for romantic stargazing. I can take the top off and everything. Or _you_ could take your top off. But it’s not even dark out so that wouldn’t really make sense, we can save that for a-”

“Stiles.”

Stiles pauses, mouth hanging open in what he assumes is a highly unattractive manner. But Derek is smiling gently at him, green gray gold eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I babble when I get excited. Or nervous. Or hungry. Or anything, really, I just can’t help-” He snaps his jaw shut, looking sheepishly back to Derek.

“Calm down,” Derek rolls his eyes. “I just have to get the mail.” He holds Stiles’ gaze as he leans around him, sweaty shoulder pressing against Stiles’ own. He wishes the contact didn’t send zings of excitement all the way down his spine, wishes he didn’t think the mix of Derek’s sweat and his old spice deodorant was the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. “One thing though,” Derek murmurs, his breath warm against Stiles’ ear. “I expect a little more foreplay than you gave old Martha here.” He pats the mailbox - Martha, sorry - affectionately before side stepping around Stiles and practically swaggering up the driveway towards the house. Stiles watches him for a moment, because he can’t _not_ , Derek Hale’s ass in basketball shorts is the eighth wonder of the world and all. Derek pauses and smirks over his shoulder, eyes flicking obviously up and down Stiles’ body. “You comin’ or have you decided you’d rather date Martha?”

 

Stiles might be a little bit in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come [tumble](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com) with me!


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